Artistic Devotion
by imma dino hear me roar
Summary: With a passion for art and anime, a girl of nineteen years discovers her new skills, left behind for her from her grandmother. She constantly draws up the characters from different shows, especially Naruto, but when she uses her new skills to draw them, they come to life! Could she abandon her new skills to regain her normal life? Or use them to make some new friends?
1. Grandmother

Hello Internet! I have brought you a new story which I really hope that you all enjoy! Here goes the first chapter to Artistic Devotion!

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"Remember, dear, there is always a surprise at every corner. I can see the talent shining in your little eyes. You're going to be a wonderful artist just like your mother, like me, and my own mother."

Grandmother always encouraged me to be an artist. Her mother was, and so was my mother. But she was the one who made me believe that I would be better than all three of them.

She would sit me on her lap and tell me different shading techniques, foundation for paint, and how her favourite type of art was surrealism, but I liked the detailed cartoons better.

She told me how art was such a passion for her and her mother, and that they relied on their art skills to survive their unforgiving lives. They certainly gained enough money from their beautiful creations.

"Mom, it's bedtime." My mother was different.

Her generation had no use of the hardworking artists. They were just doodlers. Not real artists. Not the ones that came on the television and would masquerade in their fame, using what little talent they had to feed the money-hungry sharks in the generation's art world.

My mother wasn't like that.

My mother was poor on her own, because she believed that her talent alone could get her by in the generation that she had the misfortune to be born into. She painted beautifully done landscapes that would have given her great praise but unfortunately her generation looked down upon who dared showed their potential and chased after their desires without already having a great influence on others.

In other words, if you're not famous, you're not getting anything you want.

Grandmother set me down from her lap and gave me a little push towards Mother. "All right, dear, it's time for sleep. Keep your dreams alive and chase after them. Goodnight, dear." Mother picked me up and walked me upstairs into my bedroom. She tucked me in the comfort of my bed then kissed my forehead, and walked out of the room.

I looked around the girly room decorated with paintings perfect for a six year-old to ogle at, and not to look deeper for the meaning. Some original paintings by Mother hung up as a reminder of the failed artist with a dream.

Such a shame that so much talent now works at retail store and only paints as a 'hobby.'

I could hear Grandmother shuffle her way into the guest room where she would stay for a day or too. If I was quiet enough, I could even hear her mumble a few words to herself.

"…in the attic. She'll find…so soon. Once I'm…she'll understand. Unlike her mother and father…me. She will. And then, we'll be…" My young ears couldn't pick up the rest of what Grandmother was saying, but I didn't dwell on it.

I turned over and lied on my side, hearing Grandmother falling silent and the light snores coming from her bedroom. I clutched the blanket tightly, as I stared ahead into my closet door, my childish thoughts wondering if there was a monster in the closet.

But no, the real monsters were out there, in the real world. They didn't hide in closets. They masqueraded around town, on television, in music, in paintings.

I remembered Grandmother telling me that I shouldn't be afraid of monsters, and that eased me into a lull sleep. I dreamt of how much Grandmother cared for me, as if I was another one of her daughters. Oh how she praised me for my artistic skills, always telling me that one day I would make her very proud, even though I knew that I already did. How I loved Grandmother, such a kind a gentle woman, having so much faith in everything.

…Grandmother died that very night, in her sleep, such a peaceful state…

But she still drives my artistic devotion.

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Things really have changed for this website, it's nice. Anyway, I know it seems odd at first but I'll get to the real storyline soon! If you enjoyed the first chapter, let me know down in the reviews and give that little heart button a click! I know I'm late but, Happy Thanksgiving!


	2. Surprise

Shout-out to my first follower and favourite for this story. I really appreciate you guys! All right, I do not own Naruto, Kishimoto-sama does and i also do not have anything to do with H.G. Wells' Time Machine. Okay, enjoy the second chapter!

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"Megan?" The voices of the instructors just came in like a low hum, as they tried to set me back into place like everyone else. It was so heart-wrenching seeing everyone eagerly pay attention to something noteworthy picked out by people of a higher class, not a single original thought or question popping up in their heads. "Megan?" They called out again, as if they were telling a gynoid to reboot their settings and complete their tasks.

This gynoid sighed then looked away from her sketchbook and back to the lesson. The instructor smiled when she knew she had my attention, then clasped her hands together and glanced at the reading book I had out on my desk just like everyone else. "Did you enjoy the book? What did you think about it?"

Oh right. H.G. Wells' Time Machine. The class assignment we had involving this book was simply to read and annotate then create a project for the book. I myself never preferred the written word. Imagining the scenery? No. Like Mother, I liked creating the scenery.

"As a social-commentary, I thought the book was very well done on getting the point across without dragging everything else into much detail. In regards of everything else, I absolutely hated it. It was too simple." I answered my instructor, whose smile faltered upon hearing my opinion.

She sighed then readjusted her glasses. "Well, whether you liked it or not, I hope you brought your project with you." I could tell she was displeased with me, and almost feel her hope of wanting me to fail.

I motioned over to the project behind me, then picked it up and presented it to the instructor. I could hear the collective gasps coming from the class but paid no attention to them. I paid attention to the instructor's will and hope being broken as she saw that I had actually succeeded.

With some help from Mother, I created four worlds on a large piece of cardboard paper. The first was of the Time Traveler's home, in his own time. Mother assisted me in creating the landscape of England in the late 1800's, although it was rather difficult considering it wasn't a painting, but a model. I created the characters of high class with clay and painted them myself, unfortunately, they turned out looking like they were from a manga, and not really realistic.

I even created a little clay figure of the Time Traveler, a look of hope in him that couldn't be broken.

In the second world, mother assisted me in created the dull change of night and day when the Time Traveler actually does travel through time. The glistening night sky and the bright sky of day was particularly my favourite. It was a little bit difficult constructing his Time Machine but with some help from both Mother and Father, I managed to complete it.

The look on this Time Traveler's face was a little bit more eager than the last.

In the third world, Mother took over most of the tropical scenery for the Eloi while I took control of their figures. I made them more human-like, especially dear little Weena. I made her more childish, but they all had a look of calm and serenity, not really intelligence.

The look on this Time Traveler's face was more of great disappointment.

In the last world, I created the underground world of the Morlocks. I made them more monster-like, a wicked look to them and made them look cleverer than the Eloi. Their industrial and underground city wasn't so difficult, I simply took some ideas of today's world.

The look on this Time Traveler's face was of horror, and of a broken spirit.

The instructor sighed, then managed to put on a fake smile on her face, daring to lie to me with her mask of praise and happiness. "You did a wonderful job again, Megan. I knew you could make another beautiful masterpiece." I just sat in my seat as she lied to my face.

She turned back to check everyone else's projects and I sat back into my seat, looking at my sketchpad and debating whether I had enough time to make a new drawing. I felt my lips slightly curve to a smile when I decided to make something new, but was stopped before I could by a hushed voice next to me.

"Hey," I turned to see the brunette boy next to me. "Meggie." And I regret doing so.

Anthony Smith, a graphic designer and fellow senior in high school. He has a lot of talent creating intricately done designs that are actually quite an eyesore to look at for a long time, due to them being so unnecessarily complicated. He knows that he's a good artist and knows that I am as well, so he thinks we're in some sort of membership and that he has the right to give me an irritating pet name.

"Nice job on your project. You majoring in art for college next year, right?" His smooth southern accent would make some girls swoon, but I'm starting to get sick of hearing it calling me by "Meggie." His pretty blue eyes were shining, as if he was happy just to talk to me. I lightly shook my head in response to his question.

"No, I'll be majoring in law. I'd like to become a civil rights lawyer." His happiness washed away. He was completely shocked by my answer.

"Wait, what? How come? You got 'nough skills to be a really cool artist. I dunno, I guess I thought you and I could become something like partners. You with your manga characters and me with my designs." He smiled brightly at me. "You and I would be great together!" He exclaimed cheerfully, then blushed in embarrassment when he realized what he said. "I…I meant like…doing business together. Yeah, that." He muttered something underneath his breath that I couldn't understand him.

"You're so adorable." I smiled back at him, which really surprised him.

I'm a different person in real life. In m thoughts, I'm this cold and moody philosopher. In the real world, I'm just a quiet and nice girl that draws a lot.

"You…You think so?" Anthony questioned, his cheeks having a tint of pink on them. I nodded and he blushed even harder, then slowly sunk into his seat. His eyes widened when he seemed to realize something. "Wait, if you ain't gonna major in art, you're still going to the community college, right?"

I smiled at him, then shook my head. "Out of state." His shoulders slumped when he heard that, and I sheepishly chuckled. "Sorry, but I had a scholarship and they're willing to fly me out there." He looked up at me with the sweetest eyes, as if he wanted to plead with me to stay, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it.

"Oh…Well, I hope you do well in college, Meggie." He said softly, then went back to his work. I slightly frowned then went back to my sketchbook. I opened it to a clear page then picked up my pencil and coloured pencils.

I started with the outline for the small child wanted to create. He was about six years old, and holding a teddy bear in his hands, covering his innocent little face. Then I got started with the colours. The crimson red colour was more realistic with the dull red shading for his hair. I gave him a light skin colour, with a little bit of shading and then went to his clothes. Once I finished there, I went to his little teddy bear. I wasn't particularly good at stuffed animals but it turned out decent.

Then I went to his tattoo. Ai, the kanji for love. I used the same crimson red pencil to make his carving, and it was a bit difficult considering that fact that I can't remember the kanji all that well from my memory. I managed to get it right and went to his eyes. First I made the iris in his eyes a pretty shade of pale teal, and I finished with the dark rings around his eyes.

Out of habit, I dusted the paper off like I would if it had eraser shavings. After I did that, I looked at the small child on my paper and couldn't help but smile, and have a small fangirl moment.

"Aw little baby Gaara is so adorable!" I squealed to myself which earned a stare from Anthony. I meeped in embarrassment then quickly covered my drawing up, not wanting him to see it. He simply smiled at me then went back to his own work. I gave out a breath of relief and tuned out everything else.

"…Thank…Thank you…" I heard a muffled voice and looked around. When I couldn't find the source of the voice, I shrugged it off then took my hands off my drawing.

I don't remember adding blush to his cheeks, or a small smile, or him hiding behind his little teddy bear.

I heard a faint whimper then looked at my drawing. I smirked and leaned in closer to it. "Now was that you?" I asked, simply as a joke and lightly chuckled at myself.

"…Yes…thank you..." My eyes widened. I saw his mouth move, and he smiled at me then hid behind his teddy bear again.

"G-Gaara?" I asked, not taking my eyes off my drawing. He nodded then smiled again, blushing slightly.

"No one…No one's ever called me…cute." He sounded like a toddler trying to speak for the first time. His eyes widened when he noticed that I was breathing heavily. I couldn't understand what was happening, my brain couldn't process the situation. He tilted his head in confusion and looked up at me. "…Meg…Megan?"

I started screaming my heart out. Everyone else in the classroom looked over to me to see what was wrong. The instructor glanced over to me with a look of irritation, then she noticed the look of absolute terror on my face then ran over to me, her heels clacking against the tiled floor. I kept screaming at the top of my lungs as the instructor was patting my back soothingly, trying to calm me down.

I didn't breathe when I was screaming, I just felt the air leave my body. The instructor cupped my face in her hands and told me to breathe, but her voice was just like low humming again. I wasn't tuning her out this time, I just couldn't hear her. She picked me up from my desk and lied me down on the floor. She turned to the other students and asked them something, but I still couldn't hear them.

My throat hurts so much, but I'm still screaming.

I hope I black out soon so that the pain will stop.

I closed my eyes but kept screaming and screaming, to the point that I could barely hear myself due to the lack of oxygen. I opened my eyes again when I felt something rough against my lips. I looked up and saw Anthony...breathing air from his own body into mine. He pulled away then started pounding my chest, trying to pump oxygen back into my heart.

He tried so hard but couldn't succeed. He probably wished so hard that he could help me.

The last thing I saw before finally blacking out was my sketchbook falling down to the ground, Gaara's page was right next to me, and he was crying.

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I finally got to the real storyline! Yes I did read the Time Machine for a class project thing, and if you guys haven't then I recommend you to but I'm sorry that didn't have to do much with the story. Anyway, let me know what you thought about the chapter and be sure to give that heart button a click! Bye, guys! Thanks for reading!


	3. Real

Hello Internet! There's only three chapters for this story, is it really good enough to have ten favourites? Well, thanks guys for favouriting the story! I'm so happy about that! I do not any Naruto characters, Masashi Kishimoto owns them. I do not own the song _Stop Crying Your Heart Out_, that belongs to the lovely band, _Oasis_. All right, enjoy the chapter, guys!

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"…Hold on…Hold on…"

_Mother? Is that you? Please stop crying. Stop crying your heart out. _

"Don't b-be scared. You'll n-never change what's been and gone."

"Gracie, she can't hear you."

_Father? No, I can hear you! Please, help me! I'm so cold…I feel like I'm frozen. Please…thaw me out. _

"M-May your smile…shine on. D-Don't be scared, y-your destiny may keep you warm."

"Gracie, enough. She's out cold, there's no way she can hear you. Stop singing."

_Don't listen to him, Mother. I can hear you. This was one of my favourite songs. Your singing is thawing me out, keep singing. I'll wake up if you keep singing. _

"Keith, s-sing with me, it'll wake her up."

_Yes, Father. Please sing for me. I promise I'll wake up. You just need to thaw me out._

"This is crazy, I'm not joining you in this madness."

_Please, Father. I promise that I'll wake up. I promise._

"She's our daughter, Keith! She's out cold and the least we can do is sing her a song! Don't do it for me, do it for Megan! I know that she can hear us!"

"If I sing, will you calm down?"

"Y-Yes, I will."

Father sighed, then cleared his throat. I could already feel myself thawing, and waking up.

"Because all of the st-stars have faded away. Just try not to w-worry, you'll see them some d-day."

_Thank you, Mother. Now it's your turn, Father._

"Take what you need, and be on your way. Just stop…stop crying your heart out. Oh, God. Megan, please wake up. Daddy needs you to wake up. Please…wake up."

…_Thank you, Father. I'll wake up now. You thawed me out, thank you, Mother and Father…_

My eyes fluttered open, only to meet a bright white light in a hospital room. I could hear the steady beeping of the heartbeat monitor. I was strapped down into the hospital bed by these blankets tucking me in too tight. My throat felt like someone impaled me with a dagger. It hurts so much. I wanted to speak to complain about my pain when that dagger moved around in my throat, bringing me sharp pain. I cringed, then looked over to where I heard Mother and Father.

There was Mother, her brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail with strands sticking out. She was incredibly stressed out, I could see it in her brown eyes. And then there was Father. His dirty blonde hair was messy, and he kept on adjusting the thick glasses that framed his blue eyes. Father was usually a stoic man, so it surprised me that he was crying and then smile when he saw me wake up.

"Megan, you're awake." He fought back the tears to speak to me. "Thank God. Megan, do you know where you are?"

"The hospital."

"Do you know what happened?"

"I passed out."

"Why did you pass out?"

"I was screaming too much and didn't breathe."

"Why were you screaming?" Father continued his interrogation, and I answered like the gynoid I was raised. But when he asked the reason for my screaming, I kept my mouth shut, going against my setting. "Megan, why were you screaming?" Father pressed, and I shook my head.

If I tell them, they would think I was insane.

If I didn't tell them, they would think I was just over-reacting.

"Oh, it doesn't matter now." Mother ended the interrogation, then approached my bedside and swung her arms around me. "You're awake now. The doctors said that you just needed to wake up and we could take you back home. Do you want to go home, Megan? Are you feeling better?" She asked with genuine concern in her voice.

I shook my head so that I didn't have to speak. She tilted her head in confusion and waited for me to tell her what was wrong. I motioned to my sore throat and her eyes widened with realization, then she nodded.

"What? What's wrong?" Father asked, looking in between both me and Mother.

"Her throat still hurts a lot from screaming. She must've strained her throat too much. Come on, let's go ask the doctors for some medicine." Mother looked over at Father, who nodded in return.

"Okay. Oh, Megan, we brought you something." Father walked over to a chair and picked up a rectangular figure on it. He walked over to the bedside then presented it to me. "It's your sketchbook. Your teacher gave us your belongings from class and we thought that once you woke up, you'd like to draw something to kill time." Father gave me an awkward smile before handing me my sketchbook. I looked at it, then at the door when I heard it closing after Mother and Father left.

"…M-Megan…" I cringed at the young muffled voice that called for me. Gently, I opened up my sketchbook to the right page but kept my eyes closed. "…I-I'm sorry. I-I was the r-reason you started sc-screaming…" Regretting that I even opened the stupid sketchbook, I threw it off into the corner near me.

A moment of silence went by until I started to hear muffled wailing.

I clasped my hands over my ears so that the sound couldn't pierce through. But I could still hear it. I know I shouldn't hear it, though. It's not real. There's no way that it's real. I never saw called him cute. I never saw him. I never drew him. It's in my head. I'm just losing my touch with reality, and that's okay.

Every teenager loses their sanity.

I'm just a late bloomer.

The wailing grew louder, I couldn't stand it. And I couldn't tell him to be quiet or else it would put my throat in pain. I opened my eyes to look at my sketchbook, sprawled out on the floor and with his page face down. I cringed at the sound of his crying and shook my head, reprimanding myself for even thinking that it was real.

I gave up. Sighing, I let my hands fall down to my sides and stared down at the porcelain coloured wall. I saw a mirror there, as if it was put up to shame the patients for injuring themselves. My reflection was there, and I was indifferent to it.

I saw a girl with auburn hair that reached her neck and two longer bangs that framed her painted face. Her blue eyes framed with eyeliner looked drowsy and uninterested with life, while the brown lipstick she wore said that she was infatuated with life. She was thin, a healthy type of thin although she won't be getting any scholarships for sports. The doctors had enough courtesy to leave on her necklace with a jade charm in the middle. The hospital gown she wore was so unflattering for her body.

That girl is Megan.

I am that girl.

Therefore, I am Megan.

I never felt like Megan, though. I understand that Megan is my title, but it doesn't feel like me. I am a gynoid named Megan with a gift of being a talented artist. And sounding like a stoner who was failing Philosophy class.

Megan untucked herself from the tight straps of blankets in the hospital bed and stood up, walking over to the corner from where the muffled wailing was.

I picked up the sketchbook and closed it so that the wailing could barely be audible. I then walked back over to the bed and tucked myself back into the comfort and warmth of the blankets. The heart rate monitor was flat lining because it wasn't plugged into my wrist, so I plugged it back in before any of the doctors or nurses could come in and wonder if I was still alive.

I opened the sketchbook back up to his page, and glared at him. His eyes were red and his face was stained with tears. He sniffled, then hid behind his little teddy bear, not wanting to be reprimanded by me. My eyes softened at the poor drawing, then widened when I forgot that he was just that. A poorly animated drawing. Not a real boy.

"…I-I'm s-sorry, Megan…I r-really am…" Gaara sobbed, and I rolled my eyes.

"You're not real. I drew you, that part is true, but you're not actually sobbing. You're not actually talking to me. And you're not actually moving! There's no way!" I yelled at him, trying to convince myself more than I was trying to convince him. "Because of you, I'm in this hospital bed, all the students in my class will think I'm crazy, and I'll have an emotionally scarring moment for the rest of my life!" I scolded the drawing, who looked down and cringed as my voice grew louder.

"…I-I'm s-sorry, Megan! I w-was just s-so happy that you called me…c-cute…" Gaara sat down on in his area on the page and continued to sob. He rubbed the tears away from his eyes then looked at his fist, then up at me. "...I-I'll show you I'm r-real…" He said bitterly, at which I raised an eyebrow, curious at what he was planning.

He rubbed more tears away with his fists then stood up, and walked over to the screen of the page that was separating what was inside the page and reality. He raised the fist with tears and rubbed it against the screen of the page. After he finished, he took a step back then glared at me. I rolled my eyes at him. I was going to close the sketchbook again when I saw a droplet of water on the page where Gaara rubbed his tears. Before I could understand what happened, my fingers made their way to the page and touched that droplet of water.

…It was his tears…His tears are on my fingertips…

With my eyes filled with fear, I looked at the drawing. It wasn't a drawing. It was real. He was real, just trapped in a page of my sketchbook. I looked him in his eyes as he continued to glare at me. Gaara opened his mouth, and without sobbing, or crying, he said something that scared me.

"I'm real, Megan."

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Here's the feedback for the reviews. metalatron-she-lives, thank you so much for the praise! Atsirk Enoh, hopefully I can explain everything soon. dark the emo queen, thanks for the praise! greatness, he didn't calm down. Guest, she's awake now and sorry for taking too long to update.

Let me know what you guys thought about the chapter down in the reviews. And if you haven't done so already, be sure to give that little heart button a click! Bye, guys! Happy New Year!


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